


close encounters

by aelescribe



Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: Glenn Close Has Abandonment Issues, Glennry if you squint, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spoilers for Episode 49: Contact, Touch-Starved, Trauma, sometimes a family is 4 dads and 1 son dad, this is just whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28759389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelescribe/pseuds/aelescribe
Summary: Glenn has to believe they forgot him, because the alternative is that they left him behind.Which, in all fairness, is an equally likely scenario.
Relationships: Bill Close & Glenn Close, Glenn Close/Morgan Freeman (Dungeons and Daddies)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	close encounters

**Author's Note:**

> can you imagine spending years in a state of not quite being alive thinking your friends left you behind only to realize they love you, actually, and its worth getting over your abandonment issues to talk to your son and support him even if hes not the kid you remember and commit to being a better person/dad whether or not he remembers you???????
> 
> anyways glenn hours.  
> also glennry hours. subtle but present

Glenn stops keeping count once he hits his fifth anniversary.

He grunts. He works out. When things are desperate, he hums, just to remember that he has a voice. His mouth may be buckled, but it has a use beyond ingestion. He tries to remember this. He is forgetting. 

Glenn is a funny guy and he has enough material to keep himself entertained. If only he could speak it to the empty air, remind himself he exists. This numbness is something he chased in his youth. This aching, endless void that he’s accessed is a monotonous comfort to the onslaught of his thoughts. 

He runs through Morgan and Nick quickly. The issues there are simple. Prison has spared him the embarrassment of voicing these realizations out loud. 

Glenn’s always been mature for his age, reaching for something wiser, older, beyond him. Nick curbed his early twenties. These useless milestones run through his head. He imagines Nick’s first steps, his tenth birthday, his first drum lesson—all these useless. 

In a way, he’s killed Nick, like he killed Morgan, like he kills all good things around him.

This is Nick’s chance at a good life. He’ll have a good dad. Something stable. Something… 

_Anything_ but this.

Glenn surprises himself with heartbreak when he remembers the other dads.

Of course they’re dealing with Nick’s new father, whoever that is, and getting the rest of their anchors. It took him that first year to realize that they must have forgotten him. A consequence of the trial.

He’s only ever been a blip in other people’s lives. He leaves first. That’s a Close specialty. 

Even Morgan knew that. 

Glenn’s been airbrushed from their memories, and that’s for the best, he convinces himself. Safer for Nick, easier for the dads. Better for everyone. What can he offer them but wrists straining in leather, a roguish smile, empty air? 

His father strains over the bench to high-five him. 

Nick tuts “ _Banana_ ”. 

Ron straightens his jacket. Daryl and Paeden cheer from the bench. Henry smiles behind his glasses.

He has to believe they forgot him, because the alternative is that they left him behind.

Which, in all fairness, is an equally likely scenario. 

Glenn abandoned them first, and he is quite the influence. Now they are safe from that influence. He won’t miss Ron’s quietude, the way he saw through Glenn’s bravado, yet kindly allowed him to keep it. He won’t miss Darryl’s no-nonsense attitude, so grounding it demystifies all Glenn’s doubts. Henry, unable to stand Glenn at all, somehow cutting through all their differences to share an emotional clarity he’s never seen. 

The way everyone falls silent to give Ron space to speak. 

How Paeden curled up in the backseat between Henry and himself. 

Watching the sunrise in the Odyssey shotgun with Darryl. 

These stupid small moments he left behind with Morgan come rushing back all at once. The funeral wasn’t sad. It’s not losing Nick that devastates him. It’s these remnants that still remain, reminding him that he’s lost everything, that these moments are faded and gone. If they only exist in his mind, in this liminal, tortured space, are they even real anymore?

He’s forgotten the sound of Morgan’s voice over the years. He’s forgetting what his house looks like. The color of his first guitar pick. The last words he said to Bill. 

It’s easy, letting it go. He has nothing else to hold onto.

His fists clench around the chains and for a moment, he considers breaking free. 

He lets the impulse go. 

There’s a reason he’s here. 

There’s a reason Nick was torn from him. 

_Glenn_ is the reason. 

Admitting it is a relief unmatched in the unconscious.

There’s no difference between sleeping and waking—he’s conscious or he’s not. When next he registers the thick water running through stone cracks, the air is softer. Some distant, sweet thing, as if a window opened. 

A hallucination, then. He’s cycled through enough dreams and fantasies to recognize this delusion. Glenn is very skilled in the art of fantasy. 

It’s the normal shtick: the guys were actually trying to find him this whole time, have fought through hell and back to get to him, and are at last here to save him because they care too much to leave him behind. 

It’s sweet like all dreams are—and in that, opposed to reality. He spent years stirring in bed and expecting to roll over and meet Morgan halfway, smother the back of her neck with kisses, hook their ankles, until she stirred awake and rolled onto his chest. 

He wakes up in an empty bed. 

He still sleeps on the right side in case she'll materialize on the left. It’s dangerous to give a desperate man false hope. He tries to shut out the distant clamor of battle, refusing to let his brain taunt him any longer. Glenn will not show weakness, even to himself. Bill wouldn’t allow it. 

An indeterminate number of footsteps coming down the hall, the familiar trek the guard takes to give Glenn his morning and evening slurpees. He listens, more bored than anything, waiting for this figment of imagination to fade. 

“Lemme at it, lemme at it!”

“Okay, Paeden, I appreciate the enthusiasm but I need you to stand back.”

“Hey, uh, you two shouldn’t go in here. Your shoelaces are untied.”

Ron’s voice sticks out, even in his addled brain. His throat vibrates with a ratty laugh.

Metal bending, _snapping_ , brick tumbling down.

“Oh geez, Darryl!”

“They already know we’re here—” 

“No, I mean, that was very impressive! Great job, buddy.”

“Are sure you want to go in alone?”

The voice is distant, unrecognizable. 

“It’s better if you stay. Just let us… let us.”

The slap of sandals on stone is very distinctive. There’s a tug on the chains on his wrist, rough. The sequence of events is familiar to all his dream escape plans, but pain usually shocks him out of it. His wrist cracks sharp, lingers.

“Sorry, buddy,” Darryl apologizes, and in the next second _yanks_ the chain from the wall, _yanks_ the link to his wrist. Glenn’s arm falls limp to his side. The other one comes down just as quickly and for the first time in years, Glenn is standing on his own, barely, before he tips forward.

Calloused yet nimble hands meet his descent. “Hey, Glenn, I gotcha. _I got him_!” The voice in his ear is soft. He shivers. “I’m going to take this off, okay, but keep your eyes shut. It’s going to be bright.” The crude knot is carefully undone, releasing his sweat-damp bangs. Next, the mask— 

“I’m going to be touching your face, Glenn, tell me if anything doesn’t feel okay, I just need to get this _off_ —” 

His fingers tremble over the buckles. His breath hitches. But in seconds it’s gone and Glenn’s jaw is _free_. He wheezes and lets his mouth fall open. He can feel his sweat soaking through Henry’s shirt, chest heaving. 

The smell. 

Glenn wrinkles his nose.

Henry’s sob morphs into a laugh. “Gee, it’s good to see you too, Glenn.”

This isn’t real. Glenn knows that, intellectually. 

But Henry really _smells_ like Henry. 

“Can you open your eyes? Sorry, can I touch, I’m, I’m holding you up, can I have your consent?”

Henry starts to pull back. Glenn clings to him. 

This is the weakness he’s talking about, the giving in, even when it’s not real. It’s nice to imagine it could be. Glenn could imagine Darryl and Ron each on either side of them—Paeden squeezing in between them—and it’s just another Dad Huddle.

“Don’t,” he manages. “Don’t go—”

“I’m here, Glenn,” Henry chokes. “I’m right here. We’re here. We’ve got you.”

He tries to open his eyes. Vague, fuzzy, dimly lit images dance in front of him. He can’t make anything out. 

Darryl, somewhere to his left asks, “Return of the Jedi?”

Glenn laughs. 

It’s a loud, sudden sound. _Is that what I sound like?_

“Can’t keep a tiger chained,” Paeden boasts, ever at Darryl’s side. “Glenn, use the eye of the tiger! Let me be your guide!”

An eternity passes blurring lines and shapes into impressions. The jut of Henry’s shoulder under his chin. The hands at his back, waist. The awkward man at a distance he recognizes as Ron, ushering some figures back.

For Glenn’s sake, perhaps, because when he sees him the illusion shatters. 

Bill. 

Twiddling his thumbs near the entrance, looking around, looking _awkward_ as fuck. 

And the man behind Ron. And the little sneakers peeking out behind Ron’s feet. Both too blurry to make out, but Glenn doesn’t need to see them to know it’s Nick and his new dad. That doesn’t surprise him. 

What surprises him is fucking _Bill_. 

Bill rubs the back of his head and shuffles over. 

“Told ya,” he says to no one in particular. “Found him.”

“We couldn’t have done it without you,” Ron says. “Unless you weren’t here, in which case, we very easily could have done it.” Ron isn’t one to hold ire in his voice. His vehemence surprises Glenn. 

“Get us the hell out of here,” Darryl commands.

“Easy, big guy,” Bill scoffs. “I wanna have a word with my boy.”

Glenn’s stomach sinks. 

“If you think you’re dreaming, you aren’t. This is real.” Henry huffs. “Your dad’s _real_ annoying.” 

“Can we,” Glenn chokes. “Can we go?”

Henry beneath his hands begins to change, lose shape. Glenn wants to _scream_ but then his hands are anchored in tufts of fur. There’s a large bear before him and he holds on for dear life, searching for an anchor in the storm. 

“Hey, Paeden, you get up there with Glenn,” Darryl suggests. He boots them up one by one. His hands are big and firm on Glenn’s waist. He wants them to stay, wants them to brand his skin, wants to see the evidence that those hands will hold. “We’ll talk later.”

“Classic Darryl,” Ron says. “Hah. Um, that was unwarranted, even if it was true. I apologize.”

“All good, Ron, fair shot. Hit me where it hurts.”

From Henry’s back, he watches Bill aimlessly piddle around. Like he tagged along. Like he decided, at the last minute, he may as well see what his son’s sentence wrought. Like this is another fucking pitstop on the road. 

“You have no idea what I’m risking to get you guys in and out of here,” Bill reminds them. “It wouldn’t kill you to be grateful.”

Glenn looks at Bill. Looks at Darryl. Everything is still blurry, but whatever his eyes are projecting gets through to Darryl. 

Darryl brandishes his axe. “We'll be grateful when we're out of here.” 

“Hell yeah!” Paeden cheers. “Hang on tight, Glenny Boy.”

Glenn pitches forward, arms around Paeden, holding on for dear life. He doesn’t want to see Bill. He doesn’t want to see what shoes Nick are wearing. He doesn’t want to see his new dad’s kind eyes. But these things come into focus, slow, but sure, as they make their escape from the Meth Bay Supermax Prison. 

He’s disappointed when his eyes refocus into a mundane room at some random inn.

Real sheets, real shit. 

Life is easy when you’re a conduit of the state, kept only alive enough to remind you who owns your body. It’s exhausting to revolt against that. Glenn’s been fighting his whole life and he’s exhausted. 

It will be exhausting to see Nick. It will be exhausting to see Bill. Everything will exhaust him. 

He doesn’t want to deal with this. 

Henry said forgetting his dad was the best thing that ever happened to him. And it’ll be the best thing that’ll ever happen to Nick. And now that he’s here he’s going to ruin that all over again. He’ll destroy his son’s life _twice_. The same fucking mistakes over and over with no variance, no reason, no rhyme. 

Another Close specialty. 

The door creaks open. A little head peeks in.

Glenn raises his arms.

Paeden crawls onto his lap. Nick used to hug him like that, winding all around him, into him. January was Glenn’s favorite because when they reunited post tour, Nick wouldn’t let him go. It’s been three days since the trial, and a decade since Glenn saw them. For a minute, he remembers he’s alive, and he’s thankful for it. 

Paeden gestures at the door. Henry bursts in and throws his arms around them both. As they embrace, his shaking subsides, and he calmly tucks his head into the crook of Glenn’s neck. His breath is warm and even. 

“Come on in, guys,” Henry tells them in a watery voice.

Darryl rounds his other side and throws his big arm around all four of them. Glenn allows himself to lean back into his chest. It’s big and bracing, perfect to relax against. 

Ron sits on the edge of the bed. Glenn half expects him to pat Glenn’s knee and give him an agonizing, embarrassing fatherly talk. He just sets his hand on Glenn’s ankle, soft, affirming. 

His voice still has yet to return. He doesn’t feel much like talking anyway. 

“We didn’t forget you,” Ron says, reading his thoughts. “I wrote it down on my hand so I wouldn’t forget.” He shows off his ink-smudged palm. 

“We wouldn’t leave you behind, Glenn,” Darryl rolls his eyes. “Even though you left us behind.”

“Dads don’t do other dads dirty,” Henry says. 

“How long were you in there, man? You didn’t even crack. Look at you. Tougher than ever.” Paeden punches his shoulder. 

Glenn shrugs. He doesn’t have a number, an answer. He winces. 

“We came as soon as we could,” Henry says. “If we’d known that you were… gosh, I feel like we wasted so much time.”

Glenn shakes his head. He’s still waiting to wake up.

“Nick is okay,” Darryl says cryptically. “Safe. He, uh, wants to talk to you when you’re up for it.”

Glenn doesn’t want to see him. 

“Your dad, uh, hit the road.”

Glenn rubs his eyes. His hands are shaking. 

Fuck. 

“You can talk to him tomorrow,” Paeden says. His voice cracks as he readies to defend himself, but Paeden curls closer, little fists curling into his hair, and the words die in his throat. “Tonight’s Daddy night.”

Henry nods. “ _Original_ Daddy night. None of this extended cinematic Daddy universe nonsense. Just us.”

 _Just us_. 

Glenn’s fingers curl into Paeden’s hair, around Henry’s wrist. 

“I’ll get us some blankets and pillows,” Darryl offers. “Ron, think you can get dinner?”

“I’ll make it my business,” Ron says gravely. “I’ll manage.”

“Hope you’re okay sharing a bed with all of us,” Henry offers a smile. “I even showered.” 

They'll spend all night together. They won't leave him alone. They never did.

Fuck Bill for leaving. Glenn's not leaving his kid alone. Talking to him may kill him, but Glenn's not going to leave him. 

He's a stubborn fuck and he won't give up. That's the lesson he's supposed to learn, right? 

This all had to be for some fucking reason, right?

Tomorrow will not be easy. Tomorrow Glenn will be the better person. Tomorrow he will talk to his son. Tomorrow he will show off his newfound strength, abs and all. 

Tonight, he is weak. 

Tonight, he stays.

Tonight, he covets. 

Thinking they abandoned him seems... inappropriate, now. Embarrassing. They wouldn't. The realization crashes over him. A tsunami of emotion seizes him. Glenn can’t find the voice to tell them he’s not worth it.

So instead, raspy and sweet, he says, “Thanks.”


End file.
